


Burden of What Ifs

by HollyeLeigh



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Abduction, Attempted Sexual Assault, Branding, F/M, Face Slapping, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Read at Your Own Risk, Rescue, Restraints, Sexual Assault, Tasers, Torture, Whump, but good things too, lady whump, lots of bad things happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-16 04:37:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18514060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyeLeigh/pseuds/HollyeLeigh
Summary: Three days ago, when stumbling out of the Rabbit Hole, Emma Swan was kidnapped. Now she’s being held hostage by two men, referred to only as Hook and The Wizard, with no idea why she was taken, or what was about to happen to her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally submitted for the @ouatwinterwhump event on Tumblr and added to my Curious Whump Collection. I have written a part 2 which will post soon, so I'm pulling this out of the collection as a stand alone piece.

 

* * *

Consciousness fluttered through Emma’s mind and body, but she steadfastly refused to open her eyes. She knew the view would be the same as it had been the two mornings prior, and she wasn’t ready to let that reality in. Despite her attempts to block the evidence of her surroundings, all the horrible details eventually made their way into her awareness. The lumpy mattress beneath her, the threadbare blanket that did nothing to ward off the chill of the concrete room, the incessant dripping of the faucet echoing from the small bathroom around the corner, and the most compelling detail of all that served to remind her of the fearful position she was in: the handcuff around her wrist, securing her to the metal framework of the bed.

Three days ago, Emma Swan had been kidnapped.

Two men had grabbed her as she stumbled out of the local watering hole, and her usual Saturday night haunt, The Rabbit Hole. She’d tried to fight back, even scratched one of them pretty good along the back of his neck, but she’d been too tipsy and uncoordinated to stop him from wrestling her into the car. He’d put a rag, soaked with an overly pungent odor that would probably have made her puke if it hadn’t knocked her out first, over her mouth. That was the last thing she remembered before waking in the dungeon like cell with the two men still present.

They’d ignored her for the most part that first day. The one called _Hook_ had told her not to ask any questions, do as she was told, and she’d be out of there in no time. He’d then gone back to whatever it was he’d been doing on his laptop, seemingly forgetting she was even there. The other man, _The Wizard_ , had paid her a bit more attention. A little too much attention for her liking.

It had started out friendly enough. He’d brought her food and water, and uncuffed her whenever she’d said she had to use the bathroom, even offered her the paper to read so she’d have something to do. He also never took his eyes off her, and not because he feared she would somehow escape. Emma didn’t like what she saw in his stare and tried with all her might to ignore him like his partner was ignoring her.

The two men didn’t converse much with one another, but when they did it allowed Emma to study them. Memorizing every detail of their faces, and searching exposed skin for any identifiable markings, it wasn’t until the second morning that she considered something terrifying. They hadn’t worn masks, which meant they weren’t concerned about her ability to describe them to the authorities. Emma had seen enough crime dramas to know, that didn’t bode well for her chances in walking away from this scenario. She wasn’t going to just roll over and accept defeat, though. So, she’d kept studying the men all throughout the second day as well.

The Wizard was lean with sharp features. A mop of messy brown hair with bangs that hung low on his forehead gave him an almost boyish quality, but it was belied by the predatory grin and gleam in his dull brown eyes he sported when he caught her staring. Hook was altogether different. By all accounts, his outward appearance immediately screamed danger. His hair was a much darker shade of brown, and no less unruly, with stubborn sections he kept having to brush back off his forehead. Thick brows rested over brilliant blue eyes that had taken her breath away the first time they’d met her gaze. Well, rested wasn’t exactly the right word. They were rarely at rest, arching, furrowing, and raising of their own accord, as he clacked away on his keyboard or read from the book he’d occasionally pull from his pocket. A battered copy of Peter Pan… the Hook reference started to make sense, and Emma found that it suited him.

During the second day of her captivity, he’d uncuffed her wrist once when she’d needed to use the restroom. The Wizard (or Wiz, as Hook had begun to call him, much to the man’s disgruntlement) had commented early in the day his need to go run an errand, and Emma had held her bladder for as long as she could until he’d left. He had started to get a bit handsy, and Emma couldn’t stomach the idea of him touching her anymore. Before Hook had secured the restraint back over her wrist, he asked if she might like something to wrap around it so the metal wouldn’t dig in as badly. Without a response from her, he pulled out a black handkerchief from his pocket (who even carried those anymore?) and wrapped it several times around her wrist. With one hand holding the cloth in place, and the other around her free wrist as a precaution, he’d had to knot the ends together with his teeth. Emma hated her treacherous heart for stuttering in its rhythm, and her usually calm belly for the swoop she’d experienced from his action. After securing her to the bed frame once more, he told her he’d be out to run some errands himself the next morning, and asked if there was anything she’d like him to bring her: toothbrush, hairbrush, something specific she might like to eat or drink.

Emma had stared dumbfounded at him for several moments, still trying to calm her racing heart and shortened breaths, before incredulously replying, “What? So now you’re going to be gentleman?” Her eyes widened and she’d bit her lip in fear. She hadn’t really meant to mouth off to him, and she half expected a violent reaction to her snark.

He chuckled instead.

“I think you’ll come to find, Swan-” Her rapid pulse absolutely did not skip at his use of her name. “-that I’m always a gentleman.” He winked at her just as the door opened, the Wizard having returned from his errands, then stood and went back to his laptop, where his attention remained for the remainder of the day, looking every bit the gentleman pirate.

It was now morning number three, and Emma wasn’t sure how much longer she was expected to sit and wait for whatever it was _they_ were waiting on to happen. She’d been told to not ask questions, and her fear had kept her from doing so in the beginning, but now… she wanted answers. Determined to get some sort of explanation, Emma opened her eyes and started to sit up.

“Well, good morning, gorgeous.”

A shudder of dread rippled over Emma at the sound of the Wizard’s voice. Looking around, her panic spiked when she realized Hook had already left on those errands he’d told her about the day before.

“How, uh… how long has Hook been gone?”

Emma scooted back further up the mattress when she noticed the man making strides towards her. The glint in his gaze caused a tremble to break out over her nerve endings.

“He’s been gone for awhile,” the man replied, and to Emma’s horror he began unbuckling his belt, “but don’t worry. I think there’s still time for you and I to have a bit of fun.”

Rising bile choked the scream trying to escape her throat, and all she could do was shake her head while she jerked her wrist, desperate to be free from her restraint. She was finally able to yell out a _no_ when he yanked her down onto her back before crawling on top of her. She kicked her legs and twisted her body as hard as she could to try and throw him off, but it was no use. Tears slipped past her lashes and poured sideways towards her ears as his lips met her neck. _This wasn’t happening_ , her mind protested in denial, and she slammed her eyes shut to try and block out assault. _This couldn’t be happening._

This wasn’t going to happen.

She opened her eyes and looked down at the man’s head, his mouth still forging a disgusting path down her neck. One hand had her other wrist in its grip, the other groped its way up her body until it landed at the button of her jeans. While his focus was on undoing her pants, Emma lifted and angled her head until her mouth was in reach of his ear. She opened wide then bit down hard on the sensitive cartilage, tasting blood as his surprised and pained cry filled the room.

He yank his head away, and sat up onto his knees, straddling her. “You little bitch!” The back of his hand exploded against her cheek, snapping her head to the side. Stars flooded her vision, a hazy blackness creeping along her periphery, and she shook her head to try and dispel it. “You’re gonna pay for that,” he promised darkly. “I was planning to let you enjoy it, but now…”

His voice trailed off menacingly, and Emma braced herself for what was to come when he continued to unzip her jeans. She must have started crying, that had to be why neither of them heard the door open, unaware that Hook had returned until his roar of outrage rang out from across the room.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing!” He pulled her attacker off her then shoved him far away from the bed. “This wasn’t part of the deal, mate.”

“The deal? What deal? It’s been three days, _mate._ I’d say the deal’s off at this point, and if I’m not getting paid, then I think I’m entitled to _take_ a little something for my time.”

“Well, you’re not taking it from her,” Hook growled as he stood protectively between her and the Wizard.

The Wizard relaxed his demeanor, a look of understanding sweeping across his face. “Oh, I get it.” He shook his head and made an amused sort of noise before taking a couple of steps towards Hook with a sickening grin on his lips. “If you wanted the first go with her, all you had to do was say so. I don’t have a problem with taking sloppy seconds.”

Hook’s fists clenched at his sides. It looked as though he was about to slug the Wizard for his comment, but a phone on the table in the center of the room began to buzz, drawing all of their attention. Hook and the Wizard looked from the phone to each other and back again before the Wizard stepped over to answer it.

“Yeah. This is the Wizard.”

He said nothing else after that, listening to whoever it was on the other side of the line for a few moments before nodding his head towards the door, indicating that Hook should follow him out in order to continue the call without being overheard. Before following the Wizard towards the exit, Hook looked back at her. The tempest whirling in his now storm-blue eyes made her breath seize in her lungs. Rage and regret, guilt and remorse, things she couldn’t identify (or could, but denied their sincerity) filled them, leaving her with her own maelstrom of emotions after he left.

Tears streamed down her face, and her body shook uncontrollably. The adrenaline of the event was wearing off, causing a sense of shock to overtake her. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her free arm around them before laying her forehead against them. Her cheek throbbed and her skin crawled. The coppery remnants of his blood in her mouth made her stomach roll, and she feared she might be sick on the bed. She flinched away from the feel of a hand on her shoulder, and her head shot up in panic.

“It’s only me, love,” Hook assured in a soft voice. “He’s gone for now. I told him to go take some time to… cool off.”

Emma nodded and attempted to swallow past the parched, raw lining of her throat. Her chin trembled and she looked away before he could see the fresh tears pooling in her eyes. The sound of the key being inserted into the lock of her hand cuff pulled her attention back to him, and her eyes snapped up to meet his when he gently removed the metal from around her bandaged wrist. She pulled her wrist to her chest, and attempted to soothe away the soreness with her other hand, all the while staring at Hook with cautious and curious eyes.

“Here.” He picked up a plastic sack that had been sitting beside him and placed it onto the bed. “I got you a few things to hopefully make you a bit more comfortable.” Emma could see a toothbrush, some wet wipes, and a stick of deodorant, among other things, inside the bag. She locked eyes with him again and found a soft, unsure expression staring back at her from his forget-me-not blues.

“Th-Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he waved off before holding out his hand to assist her off the bed. “Why don’t you go freshen up, and I’ll see about getting you something to eat, yeah?”

She nodded, grabbed the sack of supplies, and hurried to the restroom. The door had no lock, but Emma knew she wouldn’t need one. Not with Hook. She was safe with him. Well, as safe as she could be in her situation. Even still, somehow she just knew he wouldn’t hurt her, that she could trust him.

_Great, Emma. You’re going all Stockholm Syndrome with the hot kidnapper,_ she chastised herself.

He was hot, though.

_Snap out of it!_

Emma splashed cold water onto her face, then spent the next several minutes making use of the resources Hook had provided her. A blush crept up her neck at the pair of panties he’d included. Knowing he’d picked out underwear for her had her flushing with embarrassment, and… something else.

The man had good taste.

_For fuck sakes, seriously?! Did you forget the man abducted you? Probably plans to kill you?! Get it together, Swan!_

When Emma opened the bathroom door, she found Hook seated at the rickety table in the center of the room. Two plates of food were laid out, one in front of him and the other across the table.

“I thought you might like to enjoy a meal at the table for a change.” When she didn’t immediately make her way towards him, he reached up and scratched behind his ear. Emma could see the remnants of the angry red welts lingering on his tanned skin from where her nails had dug into his neck days before when he’d grabbed her. She bit back an apology that unexpectedly formed on her tongue and met his searching gaze. “You’ve nothing to fear from me, Swan,” he assured her with a deep sincerity in his eyes. “No matter what you may think, I assure you I am not the bad guy. Not really.”

Emma knew that to be somewhat true. He hadn’t been the one to assault her, after all. He flicked his eyes to the empty chair opposite him then looked at her expectantly, cocking his head to the side as he waited. With slow, uneasy steps, Emma made her way to the chair and sat down. The plate before her was filled with cut fruit and miniature muffins, obviously prepackaged and most likely purchased from one of the box stores in the area where he’d acquired her toiletries.

Nibbling on the breakfast he’d provided her, a question kept swirling through her mind. Well, several actually, but one was taking precedence over all others. He’d told her not to ask questions, and she didn’t really want to press her luck considering everything he’d done for her, and yet...

“Does that mean you aren’t planning to kill me?”

Hook’s head shot up, his brows deeply furrowed and his lips slightly parted in astonished confusion. “I beg your pardon?”

Emma swallowed against the tightness in her throat and wet her lips before clarifying. “You said, I didn’t have anything to fear from you. Does that mean you aren’t planning to kill me?”

“What gave you the impression we were going to kill you?”

“You aren’t wearing masks.”

Her simple statement caused understanding to flood his features. His brows relaxed and a remorse tinted smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“I see. You thought we weren’t concerned with you seeing our faces because you wouldn’t live long enough to describe them to anyone. Is that it?”

Emma toyed with the crumbs of the muffin on her plate and lightly shrugged her shoulders. Now that the question was out there, she wasn’t sure she really wanted an answer. When she didn’t give any kind of vocal response, Hook reached out and covered her hand with his. His fingers brushed the handkerchief still tied around her wrist, drawing her eyes first to their action, then up his arm until they met his brilliant blues.

“I promise you, Swan. No harm will come to you whilst you’re in my charge. The fact that you’ve seen our faces is of no consequence.”

“Really?” Emma wanted to believe him. Everything within her said he was being honest (and she’d always been good at spotting a lie), but the facts were playing against him. He’d abducted her, kept her cuffed to a bed, and left her alone with a man who’d tried to... “So, you’re not concerned that I can describe you in detail to the authorities once I’m free?”

The corner’s of his lips twitched, and one brow arched playfully up his forehead. “Been admiring the view, have we Swan?” A rush of rouge tinted heat swept up her neck and settled at her cheeks, eliciting a deep chuckle from the man across from her, who still had his hand over top hers. “No, love. Wiz and I are not concerned about your ability to describe us. He’s too much of a megalomaniac to believe it’ll make a difference, and probably relishes the idea that it’ll give him some sort of notoriety.”

“And you?”

Hook popped a grape into his mouth then waved his hand with unaffected flourish. “The authorities already know who am I and what I look like. You telling them of my involvement in your abduction won’t make any difference, not with the list of other crimes they know I’ve had a hand in.”

“So, my testimony wouldn’t matter, because if they catch you there are other crimes they can already prove your involvement in?”

“Aye. And I appreciate the caveat of the _if_ , love.”

He winked at her, a devilishly handsome smile spread across his face, and Emma had to mentally kick herself again. This was not a man she should be charmed by. She pulled her hand free from his and rested it in her lap, focusing her attention once more on the food in front of her.

“I apologize that added to your worries, Swan,” he told her sincerely. “I know this whole experience has been terrible for you, but I promise love, it’s nearly over.”

Hot, stinging tears pooled in Emma’s eyes. How dare he show concern for her now. How dare he act as if he cared. And how dare she find comfort in his words.

“Why?” she sniffled softly, hating every ounce of vulnerability leaching out of her in his presence. “Why am I even here?”

“I can’t answer that, Swan,” he answered stiffly.

She knew he wouldn’t tell her, or couldn’t. It didn’t stop the questions and thoughts she’d been harboring for days on end from pouring out, though.

“I’m _nobody_. There’s no one to ransom me to, no one that could afford to pay a ransom, or even care enough to shell out more than a fucking dime! None of this makes any sense! You had to have of taken the wrong girl! You made a mistake, that’s the only explanation!”

At some point she’d stood up and started pacing in panicked hysteria. The damn had broken, and there was no holding back the emotions that had built up behind its fortification the past few days.

“There was no mistake, love,” Hook said calmly. “I can’t tell you anything more than I already have, except this.” He stood and walked toward her with purposeful steps. Frozen in his piercing gaze, she didn’t so much as flinch when he placed his strong hands on her shoulders. “You are _not_ a nobody, Swan. There are a number of people worried sick about you, and I _promise_ you. You are going to see them again very soon. I just need you to be strong a bit longer. Can you do that for me?”

Emma felt herself nod as he brought his hand up to wipe away her tears. Still mesmerized by those intense blue eyes, she let him wrap his arms around her and bring her in close to his chest. She’d almost placed her hands along his back to reciprocate the hug when reality caught up with her.

“Don’t.”

She wriggled enough to push him back. He raised his hands in supplication, his eyes no longer fixed on hers. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” His voice trailed off and his jaw muscle ticked. The hardened expression returned, and his eyes snapped back up to meet hers. Cold and detached. “It won’t happen again.”

The door swung open, revealing the Wizard. He strode inside, but stopped short when he saw the two of them standing in the middle of the room.

“What the fuck, man?” he questioned incredulously. “What? Are we just letting her roam free now?”

“Relax,” Hook shot back. “I let her eat at the table for a change. I was just about to cuff her to the bed again.”

“Well, you better get a move on. It’s almost time for your meeting.”

“Don’t you mean _our_ meeting, mate?”

The Wizard gave him a wicked looking grin. “You and I were both on that call. They only requested you, which means I get to stay behind.” He turned his attention to Emma, and her stomach rolled with fear. She glanced over to Hook with pleading in her eyes.

“If you think I’m going to leave her alone with you, after the stunt you pulled earlier, you’re mad.”

“Hey, one of us has to stay behind and keep an eye on her, and they asked for you personally, so…”

“She’ll be cuffed to a bed in a locked room. She’s not going anywhere. We can _both_ go.”

“Ah, but I don’t want to,” he taunted childishly, leaning back against the concrete wall and crossing his arms over his chest. “And if you’re going to make it to the meet site in time, you can’t afford to waste another minute arguing with me about it… _mate_.”

Hook expelled a deep breath then looked over at Emma. “He’s right. I have to go.” She started to shake her head, her eyes wide with panic. “But I’m going to leave you with this.” Hook grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair and pulled something out of the inner pocket.

“Hey, now,” the Wizard protested, uncrossing his arms and posturing himself as if expecting an attack. “We agreed. No weapons.”

“Actually, we agreed to no firearms or blades,” Hook countered. “This is neither.”

He held up the item, and Emma identified it immediately. “A stun gun?”

“Aye. If he gets within arms reach of you, he’ll meet the business end of twenty million volts.” Hook depressed the triggers and blue, more vibrant than his eyes, arced between the metal prongs. Emma stepped forward to accept the weapon from him, but he pulled it back before she could reach it. “I’m sorry love, but before I can give this to you… I need you cuffed to the bed.”

He raised his brows and waited for her compliance. Emma wavered for a moment. What if he didn’t actually give her the stun gun? Then she’d be trapped without any way of defending herself.

Hook took a step forward and placed a hand under her chin, bringing her eyes up to meet his. “I’m not going to leave you helpless, love. I just need some assurances that you’ll be here when I get back, and that you won’t use this against me as I put that assurance in place. Do you understand?”

Emma nodded then turned and made her way to the bed, sitting on the edge and holding out her wrist for him to secure the cuff. Once her restraint was back in place, Hook stood and moved back a step before tossing the stun gun her way.

“Now remember. If he gets within arms reach-” His words were cut off by the sharp buzz and flash of blue arcing from the live weapon in Emma’s hands. A wide grin spread across Hook’s face. “Good girl.”

He threw on his jacket and started for the door, pausing to utter something to the Wizard before making his exit. Something that made the other man pale, then shoot a thunderous look at the door once he was gone. Emma tracked the man’s movements from the door to the chair she’d sat in earlier, the stun gun held firmly in her grip, ready to use at a moment’s notice.

“He’s not your white knight, you know,” the Wizard snarled, his eyes beady and dark with anger.

“What?”

“Hook,” he spat. “He’s not going to be your knight in shining armor. However bad you think _I am_ , he’s worse. Would you like me to tell you how he got the name _Hook_?”

Emma really didn’t want to know, but he told her anyway. In explicit detail. A tale that ended with Hook’s victim disemboweled by the instrument of his namesake and left hanging from it publicly as a warning to others who thought they could cheat or wrong him in some way. She was sure her face had gone pale during the telling as the Wizard’s had become more and more gleeful with each grimace of her disgust. Despite the fact that nothing in his story rang false in her ears, she couldn’t help but think he was full of shit. She was under no delusions that Hook was any kind of saint, but something in her gut told her she could trust him.

“So, whatever it is he told you to make you all _compliant_ , you can’t trust him,” the Wizard continued. “You’re a commodity to him. A means to an end. You’re only valuable, so long as you’re profitable, and once you’re not-” He finished by dragging his finger across his throat in a slashing motion.

“You really think I don’t know that?” Emma scoffed. “Like I’m really going to put my faith and trust in a man like that?” The Wizard blanched at her words, clearly taken aback by them. “I understand the kind of man Hook is. We understand each other. I’m a means to an end for him, and he’s a means to an end for me.”

“How is he a means to an end for you?” the man sneered dismissively. “You’re still locked away in here and chained up like some animal. Whatever happened between you two while I was gone must not have had that big of an impact on him.”

“Really?” Emma depressed the buttons on the stun gun, sparking it alive once more.

“That has less to do with you girlie, and more to do with me.”

“Because he doesn’t trust you?” Emma asked with a needling tone underpinning the question.

“It isn’t a matter of trust.” He wasn’t looking at her any more, instead his focus switched to the locked room door. He eyed it with a flicker of questioning, before returning his hard gaze to her. “Hook and I have an agreement. I wouldn’t expect you to understand how these things work.”

“Right. An agreement.” Emma toyed with the threadbare ends of the blanket next to her, shrugging nonchalantly as she pondered aloud, “An agreement that implied there would be no weapons between you?” She glanced up at the man’s taut face as she fidgeted with the stun gun in her hand. “I can see why you’d warn me that he can’t be trusted. He can be a sneaky bastard, huh?”

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” _Low hanging fruit,_ Emma thought, but kept her mouth shut as the man continued to seethe. “I know what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?” Emma feigned innocence.

“You’re trying to make me question Hook’s loyalty. Well, joke’s on you, sweetheart. I’ve never trusted Hook.” A wide grin spread across his face as if he’d won their tete-a-tete. It didn’t last long.

“Then you are an idiot.” Emma’s words changed the man’s expression to one of thunder. She knew she was playing with fire, but working one man against the other seemed to be her only recourse. She wasn’t relying on anyone, least of Hook, to save her. _The only one who saves me, is me._

“What did you say?”

“You’re an idiot,” Emma snapped. “You don’t trust the guy, and rightly so, but you’ll let him go off _on his own_ to a meeting, I can only deduce, you’ve waited three days for, so you can what? Try and get your rocks off without getting jolted by twenty million volts of electricity? Warn me off of the guy who still bears the marks _I_ put on his neck when he grabbed me off the street?”

The Wizard shifted in his seat, and an angry flush started creeping up his neck. “The deal was for Hook to be at the meeting,” he argued unconvincingly.

“And I’m sure he had nothing to do with that,” Emma muttered just loudly enough for her words to reach his ears.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, come on,” Emma exasperated, fighting back a smile that she had the man hooked (no pun intended) and was prepared to reel him in. “If Hook is as merciless and cunning as you’ve made him out to be, would he really be the one _you’d_ want to deal with directly? I mean, out of the two of you, which one makes more sense to have some private meeting with?”

“But Hook was under the impression we’d both go to the meeting,” he countered.

“So he says.” Emma went back to picking at the ends of the blanket. “I don’t know, it just seems a little too coincidental that the phone call finally came after he’d been out _running errands_ , and then they only ask to meet with him. I mean, I’m sure it’s a coincidence that it all went down after you made your intentions against me known, but it sure seems like a perfect set-up.”

“A set-up?” The Wizard swallowed heavily, and his fists clenched.

“Yeah. He gets them to call the meeting, asking only for him, then he uses your interest in me against you. Offers me food at the table, sweet talks me into thinking I can trust him, flirts, holds my hand, gives me a hug.” His knuckles began turning white from the strain, and Emma was sure his teeth would crack if he clenched his jaw any tighter. “He had to have known that would get a rise out of you, forcing you to insist on staying behind with me. He puts up a tiny argument to make it seem like he doesn’t care about going to the meeting alone, but then leaves the two us together in a set up meant to keep our focus on each other and not him. It’s kind of brilliant really. A perfect plan to cut you out of whatever deal he’s making right now.”

“Son of a bitch!” The Wizard exploded. He stood with enough force to send his chair careening backward, and Emma flinched at the sudden burst of rage. She held the stun gun at the ready as he maniacally paced the floor, just in case his rage focused itself onto her. “If that bastard thinks he can cut me out-” Emma flinched again when the man flipped the table over onto its side, “-he’s got another thing coming!” Without a backward glance the man wrenched open the door and slammed it shut behind him, leaving Emma alone for the first time in three days.

She scoured the area around her, desperate for something to try and pick the lock of the cuffs with. It had been awhile since she’d used that particular skill, and never on a set of handcuffs before, but it couldn’t be all that much different than any other lock, right? After all, it was all about the tumblers.

By the time she found and shaped a piece of metal that might work, she knew too much time had passed. She expected either Hook or the Wizard to return at any moment, and once out of the cuffs she’d have the locked door to contend with. Knowing she had to work quickly didn’t help her already frayed nerves. Her hands shook and became sweaty as she tried to maneuver the length of metal against the tumblers. The scrapping sound of the door pushing open startled her, and she dropped the makeshift tool onto the floor, eyes snapping up to see a worked over Hook stumbling into the room.

“Hook?” Emma gasped. “What happened?”

He was cradling his ribs on his left side, the knuckles of his right hand visibly bruised and bloodied from where they were pressed against his torso. His eyes scanned the room, one swollen with a trickle of blood running past it from a cut along his brow, the other hindered by the sections of hair plastered against his forehead. Savage looking tears were visible on his shirt, and dark smears of red stained the front of his jeans. After he’d taken a thorough look around the room, he made his way over to her with a slight limp in his gait.

“Where’s Wiz?” he asked, his voice pained with a hint of wheezing that made him wince and hold his ribs tighter.

“He left,” Emma answered. Her senses were at war within her; wanting to scramble up the mattress to retrieve the stun gun while also wishing to know what happened to him, and wondering if there was anything she could do to help. Why on earth should she want to help him?

“Left? When? How long has he been gone?” His voice was sharp with alarm, almost accusatory in tone, and it made Emma’s hackles rise in indigation.

“I don’t know,” she snapped impatiently. “It’s kind of hard to keep track of time in a dungeon with no windows or clocks.”

He gingerly dropped down in front of her, and she eyed the stun gun laying just out of arm’s reach. Could she grab it before he stopped her?

“You’re right, love,” he replied. His voice softer now, but still twinged with panic. Emma’s mind switched from the weapon back to the curiosity of what had happened to him. “It doesn’t matter. What matters now is that we have to go.”

“Go?” Emma exclaimed. “Go where? Hook, what is going on?”

“There’s no time to explain, but I promise I will as soon as you’re safe.” He paused his movements of rummaging around in his pockets, and looked up to meet her eyes with his. “I’ve no right to ask this of you Emma, but I need you to trust me.” Her breath caught at the sound of her name from his lips, then left her completely when his gaze moved from her face to the cuffs then down to the floor. Picking up the length of metal, he turned it over in his hand before lifting his eyes to hers once more. Questioning brows briefly twitched up his forehead before discomfort reminded him of the trauma they’d sustained. Emma swallowed heavily as the question formed itself on his tongue instead. “Been taking advantage of your solitude, Swan?” A response stuck in her throat, even as her mouth fell open to reply. Hook fixed her with firm look that surprisingly resembled pride. “Good girl. I knew there was a little pirate in you.”

Before she could manage to unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth, footsteps echoed from the hall through the still open door. Hook stood and spun around to face it, his body shielding her from whoever was about to make their entrance. The length of metal was held loosely between his fingers behind his back, and flicked in silent command for her to take it. Before snatching it from his hand, she leaned over and grabbed the stun gun, exchanging it for the makeshift key. The feel of it pressed into his hand made him stiffen and glance back at her in shock. Their eyes met for a brief second before he turned to face the door again, but the look had communicated all it had needed to. She trusted him.

“What the hell happened to you?” the Wizard asked, entering the room with a calmer demeanor than the one he’d left with.

“Things didn’t go as planned,” Hook answered. “It’s not safe for any of us here. We need to go. Now.”

“Go? Go where?” The Wizard circled his way around the edge of the room until the flipped over table was between them, his hands casually placed in the pockets of his jacket as he continued to look at Hook with an unnerving calm.

“It’s time to cut our losses and run,” Hook stated. “I came back to warn you and cut the girl loose. I don’t care where you go. The whole deal’s off. Our partnership is at an end.”

“You really expect me to believe that?” the man huffed amusedly. “That you came back to _warn me_? No. I don’t think so. You wanna know what I think?”

“Actually, no. I don’t give a damn what you think, and we don’t have time for your theatrics. It’s only a matter of time before Gold’s goons figure out where we are, and you and I both know what’ll happen if we’re still here when they arrive.”

Wizard shook his head, hands still firmly planted in his pockets. “How gullible do you think I am, Hook? Do you really think I don’t know about your plan to cut me out? It’s obvious you’ve orchestrated all of… this.” Removing his left hand from its pocket, he motioned up and down Hook’s body, indicating the injuries on display. “It’s a great plan, I’ll give you that. You pretend to be roughed up by Gold, tell me we have to cut and run, then disappear with the girl, delivering her to our employer and collecting all the spoils for yourself.”

Emma’s mind was reeling. Gold? As in the crime boss? What the hell did Boston’s most notorious crime boss want with her? She’d never gone after anyone associated with him in the course of her P.I. and bail bonds business, and she sure as shit had never met the guy in person. Why in the hell would he even go to all this trouble? If she had done something to anger him, why not just have Hook put a bullet in her head and call it a day?

“Are you insane? Where the bloody hell did you get the idea that I intended to double cross you?”

Emma’s blood ran cold when the Wizard’s eyes shifted and landed on her. Sheepishly, she looked up to meet Hook’s gaze, expecting to see anger glaring back at her. The man was full of surprises today, for not only did he not look angry, the expression he gave her was once more full of pride and admiration.

“But let’s say, for argument’s sake, that you are telling the truth,” Wizard continued. “Looks to me like you took a pretty good beating. You don’t need the girl slowing you down, so why don’t you let me take care of her.”

“Over my dead body,” Hook growled, his attention refocused firmly on the Wizard.

“I can arrange that,” the Wizard clipped before pulling a small gun from his pocket and firing it at Hook.

The deafening sound of the shot tore a scream from Emma’s throat. The bullet hit Hook, propelling him backward onto the floor next to the bed, his cry of pain mingling with her scream. Emma pulled against the cuff, trying to get closer to the downed man when the Wizard suddenly appeared before her. With his gun trained at Hook, he handed her the key to her restraint and silently commanded her to undo it. Her hands shook and it took her several moments longer than it should have to get the lock undone. Moments that allowed her to notice the stun gun, laying on the edge of the bed where it had landed when Hook had fallen.

“That wound looks nasty, Hook,” the Wizard taunted. “You’d better hope Gold’s goons find you soon. So they can put you out of your misery.”

With the Wizard distracted, Emma palmed the stun gun before releasing her wrist from the cuff. She made a show of fighting against his hold on her upper arm as he dragged her up from the bed and towards the door.

“No,” Hook groaned, sputtering flecks of blood from his mouth as he rolled and tried to get to his feet.

“On second thought,” the Wizard mused theatrically, “Why not save them the the trouble? I’ll put you out of everyone’s misery myself.” With Emma clutched in his left hand, he raised the gun and trained it on a now crouching Hook. “So long…. _Mate_.”

The stun gun, he never even released she still had in her possession, buzzed and arced before meeting the tender flesh of his neck. The Wizard screamed then went stiff from the current surging through his body. The reflex caused his finger to jerk against the trigger firing the weapon before it flew out of his hand from the recoil. A roar filled Emma’s ears just before Hook’s body slammed into the Wizard’s, tackling him to the ground as Emma yanked herself out of his grip before hitting the floor herself.

The two men grappled weakly with each other at first, but bit by bit, the Wizard’s strength returned and he started to gain the upper hand. Emma tried to retrieve the gun from where it had fallen, but the two men kept wrestling over top of it, before finally flinging it towards the far wall with one of their kicks. She scampered after it, all the while her good sense screamed at her to just run out the door towards freedom, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t leave Hook behind. Wouldn’t leave him behind.

A heart stopping scream pierced the air just as Emma reached the gun. She turned to find the Wizard looming over Hook, the live stun gun pressed into the gunshot wound at his side. Without hesitation, Emma raised the gun, aimed it at the vile man’s back, and fired. He slumped forward, landing on top of a motionless Hook.

Tucking the gun into the waistband of her jeans (safety on), Emma rushed to extricate Hook out from under the Wizard. He grunted in pain when she finally managed to slide the other man’s body off him, and she released a sigh of relief that he was still alive. A relief that was short lived by the sight of dark pooling blood inching along the floor from beneath him.

“Go,” he commanded weakly. “Get out of here, Swan.”

“No. You didn’t leave me behind, and I’m not going to leave you either.”

He tried to argue with her, but his words were cut off when she managed to pull him up into a sitting position and another cry of pain reverberated from his chest. With strength she didn’t know she possessed, Emma managed to get him on his feet and out the door, with his arm slung over her shoulders. He only managed a few steps before his legs gave out, toppling them both. She did her best to break his fall, catching him under his arms with his back pressed against her front as they slumped down the wall to the hard floor below.

“I can’t,” Hook panted, his face growing paler from the loss of blood that was now seeping into Emma’s shirt. “My pocket,” he said faintly. He attempted to reach for it, but was too weak to even lift his arms.

Emma caught his hand in hers. “What about your pocket?” she prompted gently.

“My phone. G-Get my phone and dial eight. Tell whoever answers… man down.”

_Man down? That sounded like-_

Hook’s body went limp, sending a flood of panic through her. “Hook? Hook, can you hear me?” She frantically rummaged through his pockets until she located the phone. An old model flip phone, that screamed burner. Holding her breath, she opened it and pressed the 8. It rang once before a woman’s voice answered.

“Yes?”

“Man down!” Emma yelled into the device.

“Is he conscious?” the too cool and collected voice asked.

“No, but he’s breathing.” She could feel the labored rise and fall of his chest from under the arm she had wrapped around him.

“Back up’s on its way.”

The line went dead, leaving Emma staring dumbfoundedly at the phone in her hand. A spasm rolled through Hook’s body, causing her to drop the phone so she could wrap her arms protectively around him.

“Hang in there, Hook,” she whispered soothingly into his hair. “Help’s on the way. Just… stay with me. Stay with me, Hook. Come back to me.”

~/~

Emma had no idea what she was doing here. That is to say, she knew what she was doing there, she just didn’t understand why. Why was she keeping vigil at the bedside of man who was no more than a stranger to her?

A stranger, who up until two days before, had only been a villain known as Hook. A ruthless man who’d kidnapped her and held her hostage in the basement of a run down and condemned building. Or so she had thought. Turned out _Hook_ was the persona of one of Boston P.D.’s finest detectives, Killian Jones. One of Boston P.D.’s finest detectives, who’d been working undercover in Gold’s organization for eighteen months, and had nearly bled out in her arms after he’d been shot by his distrustful partner. A distrustful partner who only become so when Emma herself had planted the seeds of doubt in the now deceased man’s mind.

Detective Killian Jones, not the villainous criminal, Hook, had almost lost his life when he’d come back for her after being made by the mobster he’d successfully fooled for a year and half. A mobster that also happened to be the father of the two-bit low life, Neal Cassidy. A man Emma had recently broken off a relationship with when she’d learned his extracurriculars were extra illegal, and she refused to jeopardize her job by associating with a known thief. She’d had no idea he was actually Gold’s son, since he used his mother’s maiden name in order to keep the connection a secret.

It had been Cassidy who’d orchestrated her abduction. Some half-baked, cockimamie plan of a staged rescue in an attempt to win her back, but things got put on hold when his father found out about the scheme. Already suspecting that someone within the organization wasn’t on the up and up, Gold wasn’t about to let his son get pinched for kidnapping, so he’d ordered a more thorough investigation into the backgrounds of the two men Neal had tapped to do his dirty work. Pulling at a few threads had caused Detective Jones’ entire cover to unravel, leaving him exposed when he went to the meeting arranged by Gold.

No one knew exactly what had happened at the meeting, other than the fact Detective Jones had taken quite a beating. The only person who could answer those questions was still recovering in a hospital bed, treated for several broken ribs and a gunshot wound that had caused severe internal bleeding, resulting in the two blood transfusions and removal of his spleen and part of his liver. While he’d been touch and go, enduring emergency surgery for his injuries, Emma had been in an interrogation room answering another detective’s questions and giving her statement of what had transpired over the three days of her captivity.

There had been some concern over letting her return to her apartment, but she’d flat refused to be taken to a safe house. She’d had enough of captivity to last her a lifetime. While arguing with the detective who’d been assigned to her case, the precinct captain had come over to introduce himself. Captain Liam Jones, older brother of Detective Jones, and not exactly Emma’s biggest fan.

She’d gotten the sense that he blamed her for his little brother’s condition; a blame she completely held against herself as well. The other detective had spoken up on her behalf, reminding both of them that she could have left him to die. She hadn’t known he was an undercover officer until the SWAT team had arrived to clear the building, but she’d refused to leave his side until the paramedics had forced her to. The Captain had at least shared his brother’s status with her, and agreed to let her visit him once he’d regained consciousness, but had sided with the detective when it came to the provision of her safety. So, off to a safe house she’d went.

It had been the longest thirty-six hours of her life (which considering the days leading up to them, that was saying something), waiting for the news that Hook, er… Detective Jones had finally regained consciousness. It had been too late for her to visit once word had come in, but Captain Jones had given the order that she be brought to the hospital as soon as visiting hours began that morning.

So, here she sat, watching the bruised and battered man she felt an inexplicable connection to sleep. A man who’d apparently asked about her the moment he’d woken up, after mumbling her name in his sleep for hours on end, according to the bubbly nurse who’d been on duty all night. Each wince that pinched his face, pulled at Emma’s heart, and despite the overwhelming compulsion she felt to hold his hand, she kept hers firmly clasped in her lap.

What was she even going to say to him when he woke up?

“Swan?” he croaked sleepily, startling her from her thoughts.

“Hook? Sorry, um… I mean, Killian. Yeah, I uh… I’m here.” _Smooth, Emma._

His hand raised up from the bed, and she instinctively grabbed onto it. “I’m s-sorry, love. I-”

“Hey, none of that,” Emma admonished lightly. “I know none of this was really your fault. You didn’t have any choice.”

“Still,” he began to argue, but a dry cough stalled his words.

Emma let go of his hand and reached for the pitcher of water the nurse had left for him. After holding the cup for him so he could take a few sips from the straw, she set it back onto the table and took his hand in hers again. A small smile rested on his lips while his forget-me-not eyes (too dull in their appearance for her liking) seemed to drink her in before confusion overtook them.

“Swan? Why are you here?” Her face must have betrayed the self-conscience uncertainty his words stirred up, making him quick to amend, “Please, don’t misunderstand. I’m glad you’re here.” His hand gripped hers a bit tighter. “I just didn’t expect you’d ever want to see me again.”

“I guess I…” Emma didn’t know how to put it into words. She wasn’t completely sure _she_ understood why she’d come, and the part she did understand, she wasn’t ready to blindly accept by putting it into words. “I guess I felt responsible about your getting shot and wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh, love, it wasn’t your fault.” With the way he was looking at her, Emma was extremely grateful she wasn’t the one hooked up to a heart monitor in that moment. “The way you played Walsh was sheer brilliance. You were amazing.”

“Walsh?”

“Aye. His real name was Walsh Oz.”

His brow arched up his forehead, saying everything Emma was already thinking. “Oz? As in _The Wizard_ of Oz? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Killian chuckled, though his ribs made him pay for his moment of mirth. He sucked in a pained breath before replying, “Aye. Gold gave us our monikers. His young, blissfully ignorant wife has a penchant for literature, so-”

“The Wizard of Oz and Captain Hook,” Emma finished for him. “Why Hook?”

Killian shrugged gingerly. “My cover included elements of smuggling and arms dealing in various ports. Perhaps he considered me something of a pirate.”

Emma knew there was more to it, something he was holding back, but now wasn’t the time to press for answers. “Well, despite the fact that I don’t think perms and wax mustaches would really be your thing, I think the name suited you.”

“I’ve certainly been called worse.”

They shared a soft laugh, neither wishing to agitate his injuries, before falling into silence. Emma could tell the light banter they’d exchanged had tired him, and was content to simply sit by his side while he rested. Occasionally he’d ask her things about her life, and she found herself sharing more than she typically would. He always reciprocated in kind, and they discovered they had quite a lot in common with one another.

Kindred spirits, he’d quipped, and Emma was inclined to agree.

Kindred enough that when the doctor came in later to do his rounds, Emma immediately sensed Killian’s reluctance at the suggestion she leave while he was examined.

“I’m gonna go see if I can rustle up some lunch,” she told him with a reassuring smile before she teased, “I don’t get the luxury of blue jello.” He gave her a relieved sort of half smile, but his eyes still held a hint of trepidation when she stood and released his hand. “Hey,” she whispered, leaning over him and sweeping his bangs off his forehead (man, was his hair soft). “I’ll be back soon.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” she vowed, sealing her words with a gentle brush of her lips against his cheek. When she pulled back they both stared at each other, wide-eyed at her boldness, but it had done the trick; there were no more lingering doubts in his gaze.

About an hour later, Emma returned to Killian’s room. She had to do a double take at the number outside the door to make sure she’d entered the correct one.

The room was empty.

“Excuse me?” she called out to the nurse passing by. “Can you tell me where they’ve moved the patient that was in this room?”

“I’m afraid she can’t do that, Miss Swan,” Captain Jones’ voice said from where he was approaching down the hall.

“What do you mean? Where’s… where’s Killian?” Cold dread swept through her, seeping past the walls of denial her heart was quickly erecting. _No, no. He couldn’t be…_

“He’s gone,” the man said softly, standing before her with frustrating stoicism.

“What do you mean, gone? He’s not… he’s not.” Emma couldn’t form the word.

“He’s not dead,” Captain Jones stated. The word punched Emma straight in the gut before she fully comprehended what had preceded it.

“Then where-”

“He’s been moved,” he continued. “To a more secure facility until he’s well enough to be relocated.”

“Relocated?” Emma parroted. “Relocated where?”

“I don’t know,” the man confessed, and for the first time his hardened demeanor softened slightly. “That’s up the U.S. Marshals now.”

_The U.S. Marshals? Surely not!_

“Are you saying he’s being put into Witness Protection?” Emma hissed.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss an ongoing investigation, Miss Swan, but surely with your knowledge of law enforcement and the justice system you can work out why that would be necessary.”

Of course she could. And she did. Right there in the hallway.

Killian must have been able to collect enough evidence during the course of his undercover assignment for them to be able to make an arrest. That also meant, he’d be their key witness when the case went to trial, making him Public Enemy Number One in the Gold organization, with a hefty price on his head and a large target on his back. Emma also knew it could take _years_ for such a case to go to trial, which meant…

“Killian had the same look on his face when I told him,” Captain Jones commented.

“Can I… can I see him before he leaves?”

The fall of the man’s face gave her all the answer she needed. Tears began to blur her vision, making the object he held out towards her nothing more than a white blob.

“He left this for you.” He pressed the envelope into her hand then offered her an apologetic smile. “Take your time. I’ll wait for you at reception to take you back to the safe house once you’re ready.”

Emma stepped inside the vacant hospital room and dropped down into the chair she’d kept vigil in hours before. Turning the envelope over in her hand, she choked back a sob at the sight of her name elegantly scrawled along the front before she removed the letter and began to read.

_My Dearest Swan,_

_By now you’ve been told that I have been moved, and while the contents of this letter might seem sudden, maybe even a bit overwhelming, I feel that if I don’t express these things to you now, I will only come to regret it later when the opportunity will no longer be afforded to me._

_Please know that I have no desire to leave you. Liam assures me that the danger against you will pass once Gold has a more pressing annoyance (me) to divert his resources to. Until then, please listen to my brother. I know he can be something of a sanctimonious and stubborn ass, but there’s no one else I would trust to keep you safe. Especially since I won’t be there to see to that honor myself._

_And it would be an honor, Swan. I know you are perfectly capable of looking out for yourself, a fact you’ve proven time and again, which makes having your trust in me to watch your back a true honor. As was having you watch mine. I can never thank you enough for that trust, not only because it saved my life, but because I understand how rare it is for you to gift it. And it is a gift I shall cherish._

_Just as I will treasure the brief moments you and I spent together, not as Hook and Swan, but as Killian and Emma. Moments I had hoped to cultivate into many more moments with you, and from the kiss you left upon my cheek, I can only hope you might have wished for that, too._

_Perhaps one day, when this is all behind us, we might have a chance for those moments, but I won’t ask you to wait for me, love. I want you to live your life. Let me be the one to carry the burden of what ifs. Will you do that for me?_

_Good girl._

_Not a day will go by I won’t think of you,_

_Killian_

Emma crumpled the pages of the letter against her chest, tears dripping from her face, and breathed out a vow of her own.

_I will find you, Killian._

The End

 

 


	2. Part Two

**PART TWO**

Killian did a double take at the flash of sunshine curls he caught in his periphery. It was an impossibility of actually being her, he knew that, but it didn’t stop him from checking before entering his building. He didn’t even need to see the woman’s face to know it wasn’t her. The color of her hair was all wrong.

Fishing his key out of his jacket pocket with a heavy sigh, Killian made his way into his apartment with an even heavier heart. He’d kept his promise. There hadn’t been a day that had gone by in the past six months that he hadn’t thought of her.

Boots were discarded next to the door, his jacket hung up on the hook over them before Killian went to his kitchen to retrieve a beer. He pried the cap off, tossing it into the nearby trash can and plopped himself down onto the sofa. A long pull from the bottle passed his lips and washed down his throat before he dug his wallet from his back pocket. Inside was a piece of paper, worn soft and creased from daily handling as it was unfolded and folded time and again. It only contained one word. Well, one word and an initial, but Killian had read that word and traced that initial with his finger every day, multiple times a day, for the past six months.

_Good._

That was all. Just... Good, with the initial E. scrawled underneath it. The last word he’d received from her.

Emma. His Swan.

Reverently, he placed the note back into his wallet. Even if it hadn’t been the only personal possession he’d been able to bring with him to this new life, it would have been counted as the most cherished. Liam had been able to slip it to him during their last meeting, along with a promise to look after the woman who had captured his _little brother_ ’s heart in an unrealistically quick fashion. Killian knew his brother was dubious of the feelings he’d garnered for the woman who had essentially been his hostage for three days, but he didn’t care what his brother thought. Emma Swan was special, a kindred spirit, and someone he would fight tooth and nail to get back to once this exile was over.

Especially, since he had her simple encouragement expressed in a single word of hope. A _what if_ he was more than happy to carry the burden of.

Killian clicked on the television to catch the evening news while he perused the take out menus he’d amassed, a sad collection that attested to the isolation and loneliness his life now encompassed. It wasn’t as though he were forbidden in making _friends_ or having a semblance of normalcy in his life, he just couldn’t bring himself to carry the charade that far. Work, home, take-out, sleep, repeat. That’s what he had energy for - nothing more, nothing less. The only time he really got out of his apartment was during his weekly run through the park. Every other morning he pounded out a rhythm on his treadmill, but once a week he took his exertions outdoors in order to covertly meet up with his handler and check in.

Meetings that were becoming more frustrating with each passing week.

Gold and Cassidy had been arrested just days after Killian had been relocated, but as anticipated, were holding up proceedings at every turn. Killian knew it could take years before justice could be fully served against Gold and his entire organization dismantled. Patience used to be a virtue Killian was known for, it was what made him good undercover. Lately though, his patience with the entire system he used to devote his life to was running thin, causing him to think rashly, and leaving him with a simmering pool of anger just below the surface, threatening to erupt under just the right kind of pressure.

_Breaking News at the top of this hour is coming in from our affiliates. The mob boss, notoriously known as Mr. Gold, has escaped from maximum security prison and is now on the run. Authorities have confirmed that the jailbreak happened early this morning, leaving three guards dead and several inmates wounded. One of those inmates includes Neal Cassidy, Gold’s own son, who is not suspected as having a part in the jailbreak. According to investigators, Cassidy sustained injury while attempting to stop his father’s escape. Witnesses report hearing Gold declare that he no longer considered him his son before stabbing him with a sharpened instrument known as a shiv. Authorities are urging citizens in the area to be vigilant and to report any…_

Killian sprinted for his bedroom and located the burner phone he had hidden in his go bag. His handler had given it to him in case of an emergency, and he couldn’t think of a more pressing reason to break protocol. Why hadn’t the man contacted him about this earlier? Why was he hearing about it now, on the _evening_ news, like everyone else across the country? He should have been told sooner. He should have a detail watching over him. He should…

An error tone sounded before the message began; _We’re sorry. The number you are trying to reach…_

Killian’s blood ran cold in his veins as the pre-recorded woman prattled on, his eyes fixed on the bag he’d retrieved from its hidden place. His gun was missing. Awareness prickled across his skin, and he held his breath, straining his ears to pick up on any little sound. Quiet thundered around him. Whoever had been in his apartment earlier, didn’t seem to be there any longer. His eyes fell back onto his go bag; money, passport, storage locker key, everything else remained. He could go. He could run.

But to where? How badly was he compromised? Did the breach extend into the US Marshals, or did it stop at his handler? Was his handler in cahoots with Gold, or an obstacle that had been dealt with in typical Gold fashion? Did Liam know he was left vulnerable and had people on their way to collect him? Did Emma know of Gold’s escape?

Emma. He had to get to Emma. Liam had assured him that Gold and Neal knew nothing of their blossoming feelings for one another, but could he really risk it?

Mind made up, Killian rushed back to the living room, slipped on his boots and jacket, then made his way out of the apartment via the bathroom window. In case his apartment was being watched, he didn’t want to risk being seen leaving, which also meant abandoning his car and making his way on foot through the back alley. The bustling side street was only a few meters away when a dark figure materialized before him, stepping away from the wall he’d spent God only knew how many hours propped against. Killian stopped and turned to head back the other way, but another looming figure stood right behind him.

“Hook,” the man grunted by way of greeting. “Boss wants a word with you.”

Before he could fight back, a black bag was roughly placed over his head and a punch to his gut deprived him of all oxygen. Futilely, he struggled against them. His back was slammed against the brick wall, his hands bound with tape that was then wound tightly around the bag, acting as a crude gag to keep him from calling out for help. Not that he could muster enough breath to actually do so.

Half dragged, half carried, they moved him back up the alley where he heard tires slowly rotating over the dirt and debris that littered the ground. The screech of poorly kept brakes, the creak of metal hinges, and the hard shove that landed him against the cold corrugated floor of what he assumed was a utility van was the last thing he registered before an unexpected kick to the face rendered him unconscious.

~/~

The first thing to flicker into Killian’s awareness was the numbness in his hands and the strain in his shoulders. The tape that had originally bound him had been replaced by metal restraints. Stabbing needles rippled up his arms as he tried to use his fingers to investigate the bindings. The same pain skittered through his legs, and he realized he was sat upon the floor. Next came the throbbing ache in his cheek and jaw from where one of his assailant’s boots had introduced itself to his face.

Groaning, he pried his eyes open and found himself in a dank, dark concrete room. Not unlike the one he and Walsh had held Emma in for several days. He shifted his position, sending another wave of tormenting prickles over him, and discovered his movements were severely restricted. From what he could feel, a metal ring embedded into the floor between his back and cinder block wall directly behind him seemed to be connected to his restraints, keeping him chained against the hard ground.

Before he could attempt to get his bearings through further assessment of the room, the door on the opposite wall swung open, flooding the room with light. Killian winced and pinched his eyes shut against the stinging assault on his retinas. Blinking rapidly, he tried to adjust his vision, not wanting to keep his gaze off his captor for too long.

“Ah, detective. You’re awake. Good.” Gold’s voice oiled viscously through the room, leaving a sheen of dread in its wake as it spread its tendrils over Killian’s skin.

“Mr. Gold,” Killian greeted amicably, though with an overt tone of underscored hostility. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your summons.”

“I would have thought that would have been obvious,” Gold replied with equal cordiality… and malice.

“Let me guess, then. You want me dead.”

Gold let out an amused huff and smirked smugly before taking a seat in the chair one of his goons had brought in and placed in the center of the room. “If that’s what I wanted, you’d be dead already. No, no,” he continued as another henchman set up a video camera while another rolled in a metal table littered with instruments Killian tried to ignore. “You are of no use to me dead. I need you alive. Alive, you are a valuable tool with which a specific type of pressure can be administered.”

Killian’s brows furrowed. Maybe it was the kick to the head, but none of what Gold was saying made any sense. His confusion must have been apparent, causing Gold to sigh.

“Your brother,” he stated, as if that made everything clear.

“What about my brother?”

“He has access to certain… items. Items which make refuting certain charges difficult.”

“Evidence you mean,” Killian deduced. “Do you really think getting rid of the evidence against you will do a lick of good seeing as how you now have fugitive charges against you?”

“The evidence isn’t about me. I know there isn’t a jury in the land that will acquit me, and I’m unwilling to part with the percentage of my fortune such an attempt would require. No, I’m talking about the evidence against my son.”

“That’s why you left him behind,” Killian said with fresh understanding. He should have seen through it the moment the news had said Neal had been left behind, injured by his own father who had conveniently renounced him before fleeing. “You really think anyone will actually buy that crap? That they won’t realize it was all a set up to make Neal look innocent?”

“It only matters what they can prove,” Gold sneered. “And that evidence your brother is holding onto is the only actual proof of any wrongdoing on my son’s part. Aside from your testimony, that is.”

“So what, then? You expect my brother to believe you’ll just let me go if he destroys the evidence?”

“Oh, no,” Gold chortled. “Your life isn’t a part of the deal. We all know your testimony would be damning enough without the evidence. That’s not what’s on the line here, dearie.”

“Then what is? What could you possibly offer Liam in exchange for that evidence?”

“Why… your suffering of course,” Gold said with a flourishing hand as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. “How well your brother cooperates will determine how much you suffer before I kill you. If he does as I ask, your final days on this earth won’t be spent in horrendous pain. I’ll even tell him where he can find your body afterward, so he can give you a proper burial.”

Killian sat, struggling in vain against the metal bindings at his wrists while Gold relayed his plan to the video camera which was streaming the images live to his brother over a secured feed. Off camera a malevolent looking man was heating up a length of iron with a blow torch, the end glowing red, then orange, then nearly white before he seem satisfied.

“... As a gesture of good faith Captain Jones,” Gold continued to his brother, “and demonstration of my seriousness, I’ve asked a colleague of mine to administer the first session against your brother.” Killian’s struggles became more frantic as the man approached him with the radiating metal. “Mr. Hades,” Gold addressed the man. “If you would please, brand detective Jones with my insignia so his brother will know he’s found the correct body once our business is concluded.”

“No. No!” Killian knew it was pointless, but couldn’t help but cry out as the blazing iron met the tender flesh of his upper chest. Screams pierced the air which quickly became putrid from the acrid smell of his burning hair and sizzling flesh. Searing agony shot through him, seizing the breath in his lungs and sending his pulse into overdrive. The brand had only been pressed into his skin for a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity before it was removed and cast aside with a jarring clang.

Killian’s head lolled forward. Beads of sweat formed along his brow then trailed down his face, creating tracks within the grime that covered him. The man, Hades, grabbed a fistfull of his hair and wrenched his head back up. Labored breaths and microtremors of residual torment manifesting across Killian’s face filled the video camera’s lens, which had captured every excruciating second.

“Don’t,” Killian murmured, his voice hitching through the lancing pain of the exposed wound. “Don’t do it, Liam.”

Another scream tore from the back of his throat when Hades’ fist slammed into the raw flesh of the fresh brand. Tears ran down Killian’s face, but he shook his head with resolve.

“D-Don’t,” he stuttered, again imploring his brother to not give in to Gold’s demands. He braced himself for another strike when Hades reared back his arm, but Gold called him off.

“Enough.” The camera panned back to the odious mob boss who looked into the void of the lens with an impassive expression. “Your move, captain. You have twelve hours to comply, or your brother will endure another round with Mr. Hades who, I can assure you, is rather… _creative._ ”

~/~

Creative was an understatement. The man was down right sadistic. Twelve hours came and went, bringing an entourage of underlings into the cell Killian remained shackled in to act as spectators for the savage showman. As if the camera streaming his ministrations live to Killian’s brother wasn’t enough of an audience.

The metal cart had once again been pushed into the room, a chair was placed in the center of the space for optimum viewing, Gold’s terms were reiterated to the lens, and then the torture began. Complete with a pithy title: _Killian the Colander_.

Two brutes stretched out his legs and held them firm while a third placed a board against the soles of his bare feet. When Hades came into view with the nail gun, Killian cried out his pointless protests and thrashed violently against the men restraining him. He wasn’t sure the sound that erupted from his throat was even human when the nail penetrated skin and bone and imbedded itself in the board at his feet with explosive recoil. A burning sensation began to throb through the arch of his foot, but was quickly cast aside by a fresh concussion of hell as Hades traded the nail gun for a new tool and began hammering the end of the nail over against the back side of the board, ensuring that it would remain in place. The entire process was then repeated on Killian’s other foot.

Streams of cold sweat melded with hot tears that were incapable of being held back. Killian’s pulse pounded in his feet, leaving his breath ragged and his head swimming in adrenaline. Barely aware that his wrists were finally being uncuffed from the ring in the floor, Killian couldn’t muster any more resistance as he was hauled up then dragged forward to an arm chair positioned before Gold and the camera. Grunting behind the death grip his teeth had on his bottom lip as his boarded feet were dragged behind him, he tasted blood when he was unceremoniously shoved into the chair.

Able to take a moment to regain some semblance of composure while the board was secured to the legs of the chair, Killian looked into the lens of the camera and silently shook his head at Liam. He wanted to assure his brother that he could endure whatever Gold and Hades threw at him, but he didn’t trust his ability to keep the evidence of his fear and trepidation out of his voice.

Straps were wrapped around his torso, across his chest, and over his shins, binding him to the chair while leaving his arms loose. He winced against the abrasive scratch of the straps against the still raw wound of the brand, and tried to keep his focus on the current session, not the previous. He had just begun to ponder why they’d left his upper extremities loose when he was again flanked by two goons who were now holding his forearms down against the arms of the chair. Hades approached with the nail gun and shot a length of metal into the backs of each of Killian’s splayed hands, through the ends of the arm rests. Killian felt as if his teeth might shatter from the strain of keeping his jaw clamped closed as the ends were then hammered flat, just as they’d been done at his feet.

“There,” Hades said offhandedly, discarding the nail gun as he walked over to the metal cart. “Now that you’re properly prepared, we can begin.”

_Begin?!_ Killian’s mind screamed while he fought to keep control over his expression, though he knew the widening of his eyes had given away his thoughts to Gold whose smug, self-satisfied sneer broadened at the display of his vulnerability.

“As I said,” Hades said, making his way back to Killian after having collected new items of torment, “I’ve titled our little session _Killian the Colander_. It should be obvious now why I’ve chosen to call it thus,” he added, giving a faint gesture to Killian’s oozing hands and feet. “But a colander would be rather useless with only a handful… dear me, what an apt, but completely unintentional pun,” he chortled, with a smattering of snickers and snorts accompanying his moment of mirth from the clustered sycophants gathered. “As I was saying, I believe in order to gain the full effect of what I’m going for, _these_ will come in rather… _handy_.”

Another round of chuckles bounced off the cinder block walls as Killian focused in on the item Hades held before him. A flat sort of nail with serrations down each side, measuring no more than an inch to an inch and a half in length.

“The trick is to avoid any vital organs or arteries,” Hades continued to muse aloud as he loaded a clip into the smaller nail gun he’d retrieved from the table. “We wouldn’t want you to bleed out or become septic… prematurely, that is. Besides, it isn’t the damage of them going in you have to worry about.” Hades pressed the now loaded power tool against Killian’s side and fired it into his ribs. The propelling force stole his breath, and he squeezed his eyes shut from the kick and burn left radiating from his side. “No,” Hades continued to pontificate, “the real damage will be when we remove them. Those jagged teeth along their sides don’t like to give up their real estate easily.”

Another shot imbedded itself in Killian’s side. He could feel the chords of his neck strain, reminding him to breathe whenever he got the chance, his pulse thundering in his ears with a chaser of ringing from holding his breath for too long.

Hades moved around to Killian’s other side and turned toward the camera. “So, Captain Jones. Unless you’d like to see your brother truly become a colander, with dozens upon dozens of jagged little holes once we remove the nails, I’d do as Mr. Gold has tasked you.”

This time the firing clicks came in rapid succession and half a dozen or more nails exploded down Killian’s arm leaving a trail of fiery pain in its wake. By the time the session was over, Killian’s body was littered with shrapnel. His throat was dry and raw from the screams he couldn’t contain. Every inch of him throbbed from pooling blood, and burned from his nerve endings protesting against the foreign bodies. A tremor broke out over him, adding more fuel to the blaze of agony that wracked his body. Darkness crept at the corners of his periphery, and Killian willed it to take hold. Before succumbing to unconsciousness, he heard Gold make his final statement to Liam via the video camera’s live feed.

“You’ve six hours to comply, Captain Jones.”

~/~

Killian was ripped from the relief of sleep by the shock of cold water splashing against his face and neck. He gasped in a startled breath and groaned at the ache it caused in his bruised and broken ribs. Had it been six hours already?

Blinking and sputtering away the vestiges of his wake up call, Killian noted that Gold was back in his usual chair. The rest of the usual entourage was absent, but in their place was someone Killian had hoped to never again see in a place like this.

“Emma? What are you… let her go!” Killian shouted. “She has nothing to do with any of this?”

“Don’t be too sure of that, dearie,” Gold smirked. “You being here has everything to do with Miss Swan. How do you think I found you in the first place?”

Killian fixed his gaze onto the woman who had occupied his thoughts for more than half a year. She looked stunning, but where her eyes had last held warmth and promise when they’d rested on him all those months ago, there was now only a cold hardness in their green depths.

“What?” Killian exhaled on a breath of dread.

Emma shrugged, and the corner of her lip tilted upward. “What can I say. I’m good at finding people.”

Killian shook his head. This had to be a dream, a hallucination, she couldn’t have… “You led Gold to me? Why?”

“Payback,” she growled.

“Payback, for what?”

“Seriously?” Emma’s brows rose high upon her forehead and she crossed her arms over her chest. “How about for kidnapping me, for holding me hostage, and ruining my life.”

“No, I… I looked out for you. Protected you. I was doing my job-”

“Your _job_ is the reason I was there for days instead of just a few hours,” she challenged. “If you had actually been working for Gold, Neal would have come for me that first day. Instead I had to endure days of being shackled to a bed and almost raped.” She took a few measured steps forward and bent over at the waist until her face was even with his. “Do you know that I still have nightmares? That I couldn’t go back to chasing skips, because the anxiety of it got so bad? Gold offered me a mint to find you, and I took it.”

“No,” Killian insisted, continuing to shake his head against the words his Emma was saying. “You put her up to this, didn’t you?” he accused Gold. “Threatened her or-”

“He didn’t have to,” Emma stated. “I _wanted_ to find you. I’d promised myself that I would, Gold just gave me the means to keep that promise.”

Killian’s head fell forward. Tears stung in his eyes, pinpricks of despair cast off from his shattering heart. “I’m sorry, Swan,” he whispered. “For all the pain I caused you. For not being there to help you cope in the aftermath. For what it’s worth,” he swallowed and lifted his gaze back to hers, “I kept my promise, too. Not a day went by that I didn’t think of you.”

Emma’s stony veneer cracked ever so slightly when moisture gleamed from the corner of her eyes. Blinking it furiously away she strained out a soft, “Good” before straightening and stepping back to stand next to Gold’s chair.

“That’ll be all, Miss Swan,” Gold dismissed, seemingly unaware of her moment of vulnerability. “You have work to do before Detective Jones’ next session.”

Without further word or glance back, Emma left the room. Soon the metal cart and video camera were brought in, and Hades arrived looking positively gleeful. Killian braced himself for another round of torture, his spirit as mangled as his body as he tried to resolve Emma’s presence and words with the moment of compassion he thought he saw flicker briefly in her eyes.

~/~

“That one really put up a fight, huh detective?” Hades deposited the freshly removed nail into the nearby metal bowl with a now all too familiar _clink._ No quarter had been given since the sadistic bastard had begun prying the serrated nails from Killian’s body, and with the needle-nosed pliers once again digging into his ravaged flesh, it seemed none would be given.

That is… not until a commotion could be heard erupting in the hall outside the door.

“It’s the cops!” a goon alerted, bursting through the door to collect Gold.

The mob boss turned his infuriated gaze towards Killian then up to Hades. “Kill him,” he ordered before following the goon out the door.

Shots rang out from the corridor and Killian waited with bated breath for a glimpse of a SWAT uniform. Before such a merciful sight could make an appearance, a blade was pressed against his throat as Hades cowered behind him.

“Don’t move!” a familiar voice shouted. The voice of his older brother. “Step away from my little brother.”

Refusing to take heed of Liam’s warning, Hades grabbed hold of Killian’s hair and wrenched his head back. His grunt of protest was cut off by the stinging slice of the knife piercing his skin. The concussion of Liam’s gun exploded in Killian’s ears, leaving them ringing. The knife fell into his lap, and Hades collapsed onto the floor beside him, dead.

“Get the paramedics in here!” Liam called out as he rushed to Killian. “Killian? Little brother, are you alright?”

“Younger,” Killian wheezed, earning him a relieved and somewhat exasperated expression from his older brother. “Emma,” he whispered, his throat too ravaged to muster a normal speaking tone. “Where’s Emma?”

“The team is still looking for her, but we’ll find her. Don’t you worry,” Liam assured him while stepping back to let the paramedics begin their work.

Words about sedation flitted through his ears, he saw Liam give a nod, and before he knew it a syringe began administering the sleeping agent into his bloodstream.

“Don’t hurt…” Killian fought against the wave of drowsiness, but it was packing quite the punch. “Not her fault… S’mine. Don’t let them hur-”

“Easy now, little brother,” Liam soothed. “Everything’s going to be alright now. I’ll see you when you wake up.”

~/~

The rhythmic beep of the machines, and antiseptic redolence of the air told Killian exactly where he was before he even opened his eyes. Seated next to his hospital bed was Liam, scrolling through his phone with a pensive and conflicted expression upon his face, unaware his brother was rousing next to him.

“Liam,” Killian croaked, snatching his brother’s attention away from his phone.

“Killian, thank God,” Liam breathed. “Don’t try to move. There’s so much trauma the doctors fear you’ll go into shock.”

Killian groaned at the reminder of the pain that had, until that moment, been a dull ache in the recesses of his consciousness. Surging forward with fresh zeal, it made him grit his teeth and pinch his eyes close while trying to stabilize his breathing.

“How long have I been here?” Killian asked.

“Not long,” Liam replied softly. “A few hours.”

Killian nodded and opened his eyes once more. Casting his gaze around the sterile hospital room he asked with a note of panic, “Where’s Emma? Is she alright?”

“Emma?” Liam said harshly. “Oh, she’s just fine. Handcuffed to a table in an interrogation room down at the station, awaiting charges.”

“What?” Killian winced from the sharp stab of pain his impulsive jolt to try and sit upright had caused.

“Damn it Killian, lie still,” Liam admonished.

“You have to drop the charges,” Killian wheezed. “I want you to drop the charges.”

“You want me to what?” Liam replied incredulously.

“You heard me.” Killian took a deep breath in through his nose, causing his nostrils to flare. “Drop the charges.”

“She’s the one who found you! For Gold! If not for her you would have never-”

“If it hadn’t been Emma, then someone else in Gold’s organization would have found me,” Killian argued. Then a point of pondering formed in his mind. “How did you find me, anyway?”

Liam’s fist balled tightly and the muscle in his jaw jumped in the notable fashion of Jones’ irritability. “She got me a message,” he grumbled.

“Come again?”

“Your Emma,” Liam quipped. “She managed to get a message to me that led us to where Gold was holding you.”

“She did?”

Killian’s flabbergasted response pulled Liam’s brows together. “You sound surprised.”

“I thought… but she said…”

“What? What did she say?” Liam pressed.

“It doesn’t matter,” Killian replied. He loved his brother, and knew he was an honorable man, but it was clear that he laid the blame of Killian’s abduction and torture at Emma’s feet. He didn’t want to add to Liam’s unfavorable notions about the woman with his own testimony; a testimony he was now rethinking the validity of. “At least with her on the inside I had an ally. Someone who could get a message to you.”

“I don’t understand this faith you seem to have in her,” Liam said, shaking his head. “You barely know this woman. Why are you so quick to defend her?”

“I owe her my life, Liam,” Killian argued. “Without her, I’d be dead right now… or very much wishing I were.”

“Don’t… don’t remind me.” Liam’s voice shook and tears glistened in his eyes. Killian had rarely seen his brother’s tough exterior crack in vulnerability, and was reminded that Liam had to witness the horrors Hades had put him through in real time.

“I’m sorry you had to see it,” Killian strained through the tightening in his chest. “I can’t even imagine how horri-”

“I got a text,” Liam interrupted hollowly, his eyes cast off with a faraway look. “It had a picture of your handler with a bullet in his head, and a message that said, unless I wanted the next photo to be of you in a similar state, I was to go to a specific location, at a specific time, alone.” Killian remained silent, allowing his brother time to collect himself. “It was a park. Just some neighborhood park, with a bike messenger waiting for me. He gave me a package with a tablet inside, and a note with a web address. The note also said that a sniper would shoot one of the children playing nearby if I left before the video was over, or failed to leave the tablet behind when I left.” Killian had wondered how Gold had managed to live stream the sessions and not have it used as evidence against him or his son later, now he knew. “I left the first tablet behind in pieces,” Liam confessed, his gaze having shifted to the bandage that covered the brand Gold had burned into his chest.

“How were you able to raid the place I was kept in during that final session if you were being watched by a sniper?”

Liam shifted in seat and reluctantly confessed, “That was also Miss Swan’s doing. In the message she sent me revealing your location, she also told me where the sniper would be during the third video. One of our own took him out right after he confirmed with Gold that I was there, waiting for the next live stream.”

“Wait.” Killian’s brows arched high upon his forehead. “Does that mean… I’m in Boston?”

“The bastard had the audacity to bring you back here right under my nose,” Liam confirmed with contempt.

“He’s back in custody now, I take it.”

“Actually, no,” Liam replied. “He’s in a body bag at the county morgue.”

Killian should probably feel some semblance of remorse over the fact justice would never be served up against Gold for all of the atrocities he’d committed, but all he could muster in that moment was, “Good riddance.”

“Indeed,” Liam agreed. “Though we still have his son to contend with, and snuffing out the rest of his inner circle, those who might try to take up the reins now that their boss is dead.”

“I doubt Cassidy will be a problem,” Killian surmised. “He lacks the finesse Gold had… and the intellect.”

“Regardless, the Marshalls are already making plans for you-”

“No.”

“Killian,” Liam exasperated. “I know how you feel, but we can’t risk-”

“I said no, Liam,” Killian stated with vehemence. “You’re not shipping me off to location unknown again. I have to stay here.”

“Why? To make it easier, for whatever two bit criminal Neal hires to put a bullet in you, to find? Because you know as well I as do that he’s going to want revenge for his father.”

“I know,” Killian said more urgently. “Which is why I have to stay. Once he learns of Emma’s involvement, of her double cross… I have to stay and protect her.”

“The Marshalls will see to her protection,” Liam argued, standing as a nurse walked in to remind him that visiting hours were nearly over, and turning his attention back to his phone.

“Damn it, Liam!” Killian slammed his fist against the railing of the hospital bed, an action he knew he’d pay for once his anger subsided and the reality of his physical agony took precedence again. “You can’t let her be whisked away without me even being allowed to see her first! I won’t allow it!”

Liam stood dumbfounded at the foot of Killian’s bed while the nurse backed out of the room in haste. A deep chuckle bubbled up from Liam’s chest and broke free, shaking the man’s shoulders as he gave in to the exasperated laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Killian questioned, offended.

“She said the exact same thing,” Liam answered, shaking his head with perplexity.

“Who?”

“Your Emma,” Liam stated with a resigned sigh. “Said there was no way she’d leave without seeing you first, and that if I had you relocated before she had a chance to explain things, she’d kick my arse.”

A grin broke over Killian’s face. “She wants to see me?”

“Oh, aye. She’s been asking about you every five minutes. It’s made taking her statement a right pain.”

“How do you know-”

Killian’s question was cut off by the wave of Liam’s cell phone. “I’ve been getting updates.”

“I want to see her. Tonight.”

“I’m sorry, little brother,” Liam said with sincerity. “The doctor said you need your rest, _but_ ,” he added quickly when Killian opened his mouth to protest, “I’ll see to it that she’s here first thing in the morning.”

“And the charges?”

The corner of Liam’s lip tilted up into a smirk. “What sort of brother would I be to press charges against the woman who saved my little brother’s life. Twice. To say nothing of the fact, that said woman also holds my little brother’s heart.”

“Younger,” Killian reminded petulantly.

~/~

“You know,” Emma’s voice commented softly from the doorway of his room early the next morning, “everytime we see each other, one of us is restrained in some form or fashion.” She made her way next to his bed and sat in the chair Liam had taken up residence in the day before. “We have to stop meeting like this.”

“Emma.” Killian tried to sit up, but she stayed his actions by placing her hand gently against his bandaged arm.

“I’m so sorry, Killian,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion that threatened to spill down her cheeks as she took in his battered appearance. “This is all my fault. I never should have made that stupid vow. I never should have tried to find you.”

“What are you talking about, love?” Gingerly, he reached up and brushed away her tears, cupping her cheek as she nuzzled into his touch.

“After I read your letter, the one you left for me before going into witness protection, I promised myself that I would find you. I wanted to… I wanted to be with you. I’d planned to change my identity and relocate to wherever they’d moved you, but then…”

“Then what?” Killian prompted tenderly.

“In Gold’s attempts to locate you, they realized someone else was looking for you, too. When they found out it was me, he sent a guy to find out why. I told him I wanted revenge. That I blamed you for what happened. I knew if he found out the truth, he could use me against you. I didn’t think about whether he could turn my lie against both of us.”

“By hiring you to find me?”

“Yeah,” Emma choked back a sob, “I couldn’t figure out a way to say no without making Gold suspicious. I tried to throw him off, but eventually… I had to give him results.”

“Why didn’t you contact the police? Or Liam?”

“I couldn’t. I was forced to go with his goons right then and there. They took my phone and monitored each and every keystroke of my laptop.”

“How long were you-”

“Ten days,” she answered sheepishly.

“You found me in ten days?!”

“I’d been looking for you for months,” she reminded him. “I was already close when they confronted me. I had the state and county already narrowed down.”

All Killian could do was stare at her for a long moment. Then, he moved his hand to the back of her head, and with insistent pressure, encouraged her to lean in until her face hovered over his. “You are bloody brilliant, Swan. Amazing,” he murmured against her lips before fusing them to his.

Kissing his Swan was everything he’d imagined it would be, and more. Her breath mingled with his, her lips, soft and supple, as they slid across his own, their tongues meeting for the first time in a dance of seduction that made him eager to exchange his hospital bed for one in which he could explore the rest of her with the same care and focus. It all caused every bit of pain and discomfort to vanish from his mind as he relished the moment he’d waited six long months for.

“I take it that,” Emma said breathlessly when they finally pulled away just enough to fill their lungs, “you forgive me for the things I said to you?”

“Of course, love. If anyone can understand the pressures of being undercover, it’s me,” he assured her with a wink.

Tears began to pool in her eyes again. “I just can’t help but think… What if they hadn’t gotten there in time? What if Liam hadn’t understood my message? What if-”

Her ramblings were halted by another press of Killian’s lips against hers.

“I told you to let me be the one to carry that burden, Swan,” he admonished sweetly. “The _what ifs_ no longer matter. The only thing that matters is... the _what nows_.”


End file.
